A/N: So sorry about the long wait for an update especially after the awesome reviews you guys left! I hope this makes up for it. When I first set out to write this it was only supposed to be a two-shot...and now it won't stop. *sigh*

Shawn was still asleep by the time Henry opened his eyes, wincing at the pain shooting through his back, making him all too aware of the position in which he had slept. The chairs in his living room were definitely not designed to be used as a temporary bed. Henry bit back a groan as he slowly and carefully pushed himself out of the chair. He threw the chair a glare that could make grown men cry before his features softened into a look of concern as he shifted his gaze towards his son.

One foot was hanging over the side of the couch, while the rest of his son was still at least partially covered by the blanket and duvet. Shawn's face was pushed deeply into the pillow, and apart from the slight flush in his cheeks he looked shockingly similar in colour to the white material. There was a slight wheezing to his breath and every now and then his features would scrunch together in discomfort before softening out again.

Henry closed the distance between himself and Shawn and hesitantly rested his hand against his child's forehead. He frowned at the heat still radiating off the skin and noted the slightly clammy feel of Shawn's skin. He ran his hand through Shawn's hair, no longer wet from the rain but instead damp with sweat.

"Shawn," Henry said quietly as he crouched down on the floor next to Shawn's head. Shawn showed no response so he called his name again a little louder.

Shawn groaned as he tried to twist away from his voice, but the size of the couch made it hard for him to get very far, Henry actually having to steady him by the shoulders as he nearly toppled off the couch – again.

"Shawn," he repeated, giving his son's shoulder a light squeeze as well to try and draw him back to the land of the living. He was met with a feverish glance as Shawn cracked his eyes open and looked towards his father. Henry didn't know whether it was a good or a bad thing when he groaned again and closed his eyes. "How are you feeling?"

The question was dumb and he knew it. It was blatantly obvious how Shawn was feeling, but it was a natural reflex to ask when his son looked like that.

"Ugh."

"I suppose that pretty much sums it up," Henry answered as he fought off a smile. "I'm going to make some breakfast, okay?"

"No," Shawn mumbled hoarsely as a brief battle ensued between himself and the blankets. In the end he managed to draw both the blanket and the duvet all the way up to nearly cover his head.

Henry chuckled slightly as he stood back up and made his way to the kitchen where he started getting breakfast ready. After Shawn's brief spell of nausea the night before he was quite aware that he probably would not be able to handle too much right now. Some toast would probably do him better than eggs, sausages and bacon.

Just as he was about done with the breakfast he heard a tremendous thud from the living room. Whatever he might have been holding relied on gravity to put them down the kitchen counter – or the floor – as Henry raced back into the other room.

"Shawn, just what the hell do you think you're doing?"

It was very hard to distinguish Shawn from the blanket and duvet as he tried to push himself up from the floor – again. At this rate Henry needed to put a security rail on the couch to make sure his son didn't fall off it.

"I was…I was rolling," Shawn said quietly and hoarsely as Henry helped him back up to sit on the couch.

"Yeah, don't," Henry scolded lightly as he looked his son over for any sign of injury.

"I didn't fall off on purpose," Shawn mumbled as he dragged a hand over his face, reminding Henry of how he looked when he was no more than ten years old.

"You don't feel so good, do you?" Henry stated the obvious.

Apparently Shawn didn't think the question neither deserved nor needed an answer because he merely gazed groggily up at his father before letting his eyes droop again.

"Don't fall asleep just yet," Henry said as he squeezed Shawn's shoulder gently. His son groaned loudly in response and attempted to bat his hand away but missed. "I'll bring you something so you don't have to get up, okay?"

"Tired," Shawn breathed heavily.

"I know," Henry sighed before moving quickly back to the kitchen hoping that it wasn't the breakfast that had ended up on the floor.

For once, fortune had been with him and the breakfast he'd made was sat on the kitchen table, so he quickly got a glass of juice for Shawn before retreating to the living room. Shawn was leaning heavily against the back of the couch, his eyes closed again. Henry put the plate with toast and the glass of juice on the coffee table and sat down on the couch next to Shawn.

As soon as he felt the couch dip Shawn's eyes fluttered open again.

"I wasn't sleeping," Shawn said, his voice slightly slurred both from the illness he was battling and fatigue.

"Sure you weren't," Henry replied offhandedly. He pointed towards the table before saying unnecessarily, "Breakfast."

"I'm not hungry," Shawn croaked. He was clearly dissatisfied with the weak sound of his own voice because he tried to clear his throat though Henry doubted it would make any difference.

"Tough."

Never one to shy away from the harder approaches to parenting, Henry picked up the plate and held it out in front of him to Shawn, who glared at the toast as though it was the spawn of all evil.

"Dad."

Henry had expected a whine. It would have been customary by this point, so the quiet plea took him by surprise. He turned his head to take a good look at his son, his body slumped against the back cushions, his head hanging low as though keeping it up would require too much energy.

"Would you at least drink the juice?" Henry asked, putting the plate back on the table, admitting defeat for the moment but quite aware that he was going to try to coax Shawn into eating again pretty soon.

Shawn sighed dramatically and looked at his dad with a pout knowing full well it wouldn't get him anywhere – it never had.

"How long have you been sick?" Henry ignored Shawn's antics and instead handed him the glass of juice, which Shawn accepted warily with a sceptical look on his face.

Shawn shrugged as he peered down into the juice before bringing the glass to his lips, and Henry pretended not to notice how his hands shook slightly from that small task. Shawn had barely had a chance to swallow his sip of juice before Henry had to rescue glass from flying to the floor and spilling juice all over the carpet as Shawn doubled over, his body shaking from wracking coughs.

"Easy, easy," Henry said soothingly as he rubbed a hand over Shawn's back.

Shawn pressed the heels of both of his hands into his eyes, no doubt in an effort to stop the tears from falling that had sprung to his eyes partly due to the coughing. Henry kept his hand resting on his son's back, his brow furrowing together in worry at the continuing wheeze accompanying Shawn's breaths.

"Shawn?" Henry said gently and waited till Shawn turned his head a fraction in his direction to show that he was listening before repeating his earlier question, "How long have you been sick?"

"I don't know," Shawn whispered, his voice so small that Henry had to lean in a bit to hear him. "I haven't been this bad."

Henry didn't know if that was meant to assure him, but it didn't. Shawn looked and sounded utterly exhausted. He was conflicted about whether bringing Shawn to the hospital would be a good idea. Carlton had for some strange and unknown reason decided not to take Shawn to the hospital after he collapsed at the crime scene. From what Henry knew, it wasn't normal for the detective to do exactly what Shawn wanted.

Lassiter had stayed as long as he could the night before, leaving with the fleeting words that he would be in touch. Carlton was a good detective, he never would have made Head Detective at such a young age if he was not, but he had not been able to hide a look that could quite possibly be interpreted as worry when he had looked towards the living room prior to brushing out of the kitchen and back out into the rain.

Thinking of staying in touch it would probably be in his best interests to contact Gus to update him on Shawn's condition. Gus would not be a happy man if he had to sit and wait in the office for someone who wasn't going to show, Henry knew that much about the young man.

But first things first.

"Open your mouth," Henry ordered, thermometer grasped firmly in his hand. Shawn raised his head a tiny bit to peer at the thermometer.

"Not again," Shawn sighed in defeat and reached out a hand to take the thermometer from his father's.

"I want you to drink the juice and eat some of that toast," Henry said sternly as he rose from the couch.

"Wif 'he…" Shawn's voice broke off and he instead gave up trying to talk around the thermometer and instead opted for pointing at it while looking up at his father with a confused expression.

"After," Henry sighed, and Shawn started to nod but quickly stopped again, instead bringing a hand up to rest against his forehead.

Once he'd reclaimed the thermometer Henry wasn't particularly pleased to note that Shawn's fever had not changed dramatically. In fact it had increased a tiny bit; not enough for a hospital to be an imperative, but Henry didn't like a change in that direction, no matter how little.

"Eat," Henry said pointedly and didn't move until Shawn had dragged a hand reluctantly towards the toast.

Henry nodded before leaving his son alone for a moment to clean the thermometer as well as call his son's best friend.

When Shawn awoke the next time it was to a feeling of relief as Thor had stopped throwing Mjolnir around in his head. He sighed contentedly, though the sense of fatigue that had recently overtaken him was still strongly present.

"How's he doing?"

Wait a minute.

He was quite certain he knew that voice. It was unmistakeable after over twenty-five years of friendship.

"Not too good."

Still at his father's house then considering who that voice belonged to.

"I think he's waking up."

Gus's voice was closer now and he heard footsteps drawing closer to him. He really didn't want to be awake right now. Last time he'd woken his dad had evilly and skilfully coached him into eating a piece of toast and drinking a glass of juice, while paying no attention to his adamant refusals. True, Dad had given him more drugs as promised which he supposed had helped to draw him back to sleep.

Shawn cracked an eye open to find Gus's face hovering mere inches above his own as though he was an interesting specimen from outer space.

"Dude, too close," Shawn murmured, though he didn't attempt his strength at pushing Gus away, having already been made painfully aware on numerous occasions that his limbs were like lead, or something equally heavy.

"What the heck were you thinking, Shawn?" Gus had perfected the art of shouting while keeping his voice at a whisper. He had – thankfully – drawn back to allow Shawn some space to attempt to push himself upright. So far it wasn't going particularly well, but this was mostly caused by the blanket and duvet conspiring against him by folding around him so tightly that he felt like he was shut in an envelope.

"I was thinking…" Shawn's vividly exciting story was ruined by the arrival of a cough that stole all the air from his lungs. It wasn't until he felt hands bracing against his shoulders that he realised that he'd forgotten to breathe and was instead hanging over the side of couch, gasping like a dying fish.

"You okay?" Gus asked quietly, concern evident in his voice.

"I'm good."

He had always been exceptionally good at lying but he wasn't sure he was able to pull it off at the moment. There was no way Gus would believe him, unless he looked way better than he felt which he seriously doubted.

"You're an idiot, Shawn," Gus said distractedly as he helped pull Shawn up and sit him back against the couch in a more comfortable position.

"I try," Shawn said vacantly, most of his attention on the fact that he had to keep drawing air into his lungs, though each intake of breath slowly started to increase the pounding in his head.

"I told you to go straight home yesterday," Gus was angry – worried – that much was painfully clear, but whenever his friend started to tell him off Shawn had perfected the art of remaining indifferent. Gus telling him off had grown into nothing more than customary background noise.

"What happened yesterday?" Henry had apparently been sneakily hiding in the kitchen, emerging now with a glass of water in hand.

"He wasn't feeling well. At all," Gus added, making sure to add just the right amount of weight to his words to show their significance, as well as fixing Shawn with a pointed look.

"I was fine," Shawn defended himself weakly, though he wasn't sure whether throwing his hand into the air only to have it flop down uselessly by his side helped his cause or not.

"Clearly," Dad retorted, holding the glass of water out towards him. "Drink."

It was a stern order and one he knew well enough not to disobey. The fact that he really didn't want to pour anything down his aching throat was undoubtedly not an issue for his father. Shawn reluctantly reached out a hand towards the glass, closing his fingers around the cool surface.

As he'd previously predicted it was not a nice sensation swallowing the clear liquid and he winced as it passed over the ragged tissue of his throat. He swallowed hard determined not to act on the nausea that was again trying to claim him as its victim.

"I thought I was okay," he breathed out once he had the nausea somewhat under control and his dad had reclaimed the glass and put it on the table.

"Dude," Gus sighed exasperatedly, "you were clearly already running a fever when I left."

"You left him when he was already pretty bad?" Dad asked Gus, and Shawn sighed deeply, bringing his hands up to knead through his hair.

"He told me he was going to call you," Gus defended himself weakly and Shawn didn't even have to look up to know that he was flustered, nor to know that Dad was currently giving his best friend a look that clearly said that Gus should have known better. He was proven right – somewhat – by Gus's next words, repeated from earlier, but now with an utmost sincerity, "You're an idiot, Shawn."

"Thanks, man," Shawn agreed quietly, distractedly bringing the glass back to his lips, realising the action only when the water was sliding down his throat with a strong repeat of his earlier discomfort. He made a low whine of discomfort, for once not for the attention it very well could earn him.

"You okay, kid?"

His dad didn't sound angry anymore, maybe still slightly frustrated, but more concerned, something Shawn had not experienced many times in his life.

"No," Shawn admitted softly, finally remembering that too vigorous head movements resulted in pain.

"I'll check if I have anything that could help," Gus said hurriedly, squeezing Shawn's shoulder briefly before walking out of the room.

Silence settled between father and son, Shawn accepted it, almost appreciated it. Though his pain in general had been slightly more bearable this time round, the pounding in his head was slowly making a reappearance as well as his whole body feeling shaky, cold and pathetically weak.

Oh no…

He was pushing himself off the couch with more strength he knew he possessed at this moment in time in two seconds flat, and raced towards the bathroom, forcing his legs to cooperate. He fell to his knees and they hit the tiled floor hard, but he wasn't aware of any pain gained as he was already painfully loosing what little food his father had managed to force into him earlier.

By the time his stomach had finished its rebellion – this time round – his whole body was shaking and he slumped to the floor in defeat. Being this sick officially sucked.

"Alright, son," apparently his dad arrived at some point but he didn't notice till he spoke quietly right next to his ear and that was rather unsettling too, "let's get you off the floor."

Shawn let out a noise of protest when Henry started hoisting him off the floor. At least when he'd been lying on the floor in the bathroom, completely still, nothing had hurt quite as bad. Being in the bathroom also had the convenience of having the toilet close by just in case nausea decided to rear its ugly head for a third time.

"You can't stay on the floor, Shawn," Henry reprimanded as he continued to haul him back towards the living.

He really did want to respond with something snarky, smart or witty, but he was painfully interrupted in his first breath of attempt by a violent onslaught of coughs that had him wondering if maybe someone would just dig his lungs out now and save him the hard work.

"Easy, son, just take it easy."

What did his dad think he was trying to do? Run a marathon? It wasn't until then that he noticed that the only thing holding him up was his father's arms around his waist keeping him from toppling face first onto the floor.

"Mmm…don't feel too good," Shawn forced out between two deep breaths as he tried to get his body back under his control. So far that wasn't working for him very well.

"Do you want the couch or your bed?" Henry's question seemed innocent enough but the very thought of attempting to conquer the stairs had the nausea returning full force.

"Couch," Shawn said definitely, desperately hoping his tone clued his father in on the fact that no arguments would be greatly appreciated.

Henry grunted in affirmative (or negative, Shawn was never quite sure what his father's grunts meant no matter how hard he tried to figure them out) and continued to drag him towards the living room.

He was breathing fast, his body shaking with fever and fatigue as Henry lowered him as gently and carefully as possible back onto the couch. Shawn felt around for the duvet that he'd discarded in his manic run for the bathroom, grateful when his fingers finally closed around the material. He lay down, pulling the duvet close around him as he willed for his body to stop shaking.

"What happened?"

Apparently Gus had returned now and if he's shocked tone was anything to go by then Shawn looked a lot worse than when he's left.

"'M 'kay," Shawn murmured, loosely forming a fist with the hand still above the covers and lifted it in the direction he thought his friend to be in.

"I'm not fist bumping you for being sick, Shawn," Gus stated, his tone bridging no arguments. Not that Shawn even had the energy to try arguing right now.

His hand fell back on top of the covers and his fingers curled tightly into the fabric as another bout of coughs tore through him.

"Ugh…what?...No…" Shawn protested to the best of his current abilities against his father's hand that was raising his head away from the pillow it had been semi-comfortably resting on moments before.

"You need to drink something, kid," Henry tried to reason, but otherwise ignored his son's protests and promptly brought the glass back to the Shawn's lips.

"Your dad's right," Gus said in that tone that he used when he wanted to either impress someone or be sure he didn't get in trouble.

"You're ganging up on a dying man," Shawn questioned once his father was finally satisfied and had released him.

"You're no dying, Shawn," Henry sighed and even with his eyes closed Shawn knew that he was running a hand over face.

"Feels like it," Shawn mumbled, tightening his fingers around the covers again when another stab of pain shot through his head sharper than it had this time round of being awake. "Can I sleep now or do you have anything else planned?"

"Yeah, you can sleep now," Henry chuckled, though Gus was clearly not amused as Shawn heard a distinct huff of annoyance from his best friend.

"I've left some samples in the kitchen," Gus's voice sounded further away now and when he tried to listen he realised that both his dad and his friend had retreated back towards the kitchen.

The urge to sleep was pulling him under faster than any medication would have been able. He was relishing in the light floating feeling which was helping to blur out all of his aches and pains. It made him sound old just thinking that.

A knock on the door pulled him out of the darkness just as he was starting to drift. Almost out of instinct his eyes flew open only to regret it a moment later as light stabbed him in the eye. Clearly his dad and Gus had tried their best to shut out the sun and dim out all the light but one can only do so much. He groaned and instead closed his eyes again, choosing to listen to what was going on in the kitchen as he once more tried to fall asleep with high hopes of feeling completely like his old self the next time he woke.

"Lassiter? What are you doing here?" Unmistakeably Gus. He sounded a little bit confused but Shawn couldn't blame him. Even in his slightly delirious state he was confused too. Wait, that really didn't make sense.

"We have a problem," the detective said around a sigh. Poor old Lassie; he really didn't sound very happy to be in a Spencer's home.

"What do you mean?" Dad had apparently decided to join the party now, but for once Shawn was relatively happy he was temporarily unavailable as dealing with Gus, Dad and Lassie all at once in his current condition would be a very cruel task.

"The crime scene where Spencer collapsed," there was a pause and Shawn imagined his father and friend obediently, or possibly impatiently, nodding in agreement, "they've found another body."

Shawn groaned. There was only one reason why Lassiter would actually tell them that. Usually he would happily go chasing around after serial killers, but not right now, damn it! He was tired and his head hurt and everything hurt. Playing psychic was not his top priority right now. At least by falling asleep quickly Lassiter would have to wait, which would frustrate the man to no end. Shawn smirked but immediately stopped when even that small action sent a small ping of pain through his head.

Being sick seriously sucked.

Aaaaand there you have it. Hope you liked! :)

More to come...I hope...